by G Collins
Sucrose at Seven
The further away from the wilds you taste
the more joyous a boy I’ll be. Crimson inside,
pliant river of cherry chew on the chin
& brip overrun teeth.
Stained red hands
& concentric crystalized bands
of birth year flushed down stream.
In the woods I prove to my mother
& a neighbor, my witch-craft relief savored
in heaps. Forbidden flavors deep under
nail nourishes my frail needle-
nose frame.
A yellow bulkhead shadow
paired with a caramelized guilt, ought
to bring me closer to god than thou wilt.
Gregory Collins is a graduate of the Riggio Writing and Democracy Program and received his MA from The New School’s School of Media Studies. His activity includes sound work, GPS-guided narratives compositions, poetics and humor. His interactive literary journal DRIFT INDEX will appear online in Spring 2014.
Comments are closed.